i.

In his dream, V feels a warmth across the nape of his neck as his name is breathed by a lover he can neither see nor remember. He can, however, feel the press of bodies... the warmth and contentment. He can remember that he was once loved, even if he can't remember what love actually feels like.
V strains to listen, to remember, as his lover says his name again. If only he could force himself to remember his name, maybe he could piece together his former life. He knows that even if he regains his memories, he would never let his lover see him. His lover would see his burnt and disfigured body and turn away in disgust. Or, his lover would accept him with blind romanticism, and V knows that he would never subject a loved one to the sight of his face.
V suppresses the memory of his lover breathing his name. Sometimes it is better to live in ignorance rather than deal with heartbreak.

ii.
V squishes the sand between his toes. It's only a dream, but it feels real. The sand, the sun, the water, the wind, the pair of strong hands on V's narrow hips. V's gaze is fixed on the horizon. He can't see himself and he can't turn to see the man (he's certain that those are no woman's hands) behind him. During his very rare dreams, and more frequent nightmares, he can never see himself unless his face is hidden away by a mask or scar tissue. Likewise, he can never see his lover. He knows this is more than a dream. He's been here before... they've been here. He doesn't know where 'here' is, but it's so beautiful that he can't help but weep. His lover wraps his arms round V, whispering, 'Don't cry, my love.' His lover has no actual voice in his dreams, but V knows what he's saying.
He tells himself that once he finishes his mission, he'll seek out this place and remember.

iii.
Some days V watches from the shadows. He prefers to go out at night, keeping a watchful eye on the citizens who are foolish enough to go out past curfew. However, on rare occasions, he goes out during the day to observe people he will never have the chance to actually interact with. A little boy sits outside a shop, licking at the remains of an ice cream. V wonders briefly if he had a child of his own, but that doesn't seem right. He tries to remember himself as a child, but that memory has long since been torn away. He wonders if he liked ice cream. He assumes he must have, at least as a boy. Now, his burns have made him too sensitive to temperature changes to even think about putting something that cold into his body. He wonders what his favourite flavour was - chocolate? strawberry? tutti frutti?
Watching the boy's tongue swirl into the cornet suddenly brings back a memory of a tongue licking dribbled ice cream off of pale flesh. It was only a quick flash, but it causes V to shiver and turn away.

iv.
V doesn't watch television programmes very often, preferring his banned film collection over the government propaganda that spews forth daily from the idiot box. One night he happens to catch Gordon Deitrich's late night programme. There's something about Gordon that stirs a feeling deep within V. The quirk of his lips, the curve of his nose, the school boy fringe... all of it is far more familiar than it has any right to be. V watches Gordon pretend to be interested in what his guest has to say. The false smile on his face is betrayed by the hollow sadness in his blue eyes.
In the morning, as the smell of eggs fill the kitchen, V thinks of Gordon's eyes and wonders if it means anything.